


Skyhold Abbey - Bonus Features

by LadyDracarys



Series: The Life of a Skyhold Servant [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companion Piece, F/M, Servant AU, bonus features
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDracarys/pseuds/LadyDracarys
Summary: Anne is a quiet and shy servant girl in Skyhold. This is a collection of prompts / bonus features to go along with the her main story. Not everything included will be considered 'canon' to the original servant AU, but I will specify if that is the case.Basically, if I write it on Tumblr, and it won't be added to the main story-line later, then you will find it here.You can find the main story here!





	1. Episode 06 - Cullen POV

**Author's Note:**

> This is chapter six of Skyhold Abbey from Cullen's POV. Prompted by the lovely Mapplestrudel.  
> If you have not read the original episode, then this will contain massive spoilers.
> 
> If you're new to the Skyhold Abbey family, welcome! May I suggest you start at [episode one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8685439)? Thanks for joining us!

 

 

“No.”

“C’mon, Curly –”

“Absolutely not. I have too much to do.”

 “Do it for the kid. I promise there is nothing sneaky at play. Just wants to learn the game, what’s so wrong with that?”

“Why do I need to be a part of it?”

“Because, you’re a nice guy,” Varric scratches the back of his head and paces, nervous hope on his face as he tilts his head at Cullen. “And… Your pretty face might put her at ease…”

“Her?” Alistair smirks, he had been leaning against Cullen’s bookshelf, flipping through a tome with an amused expression on his face. “We are teaching a _lady_ the game?”

“ _We_ aren’t teaching anyone anything,” Cullen says gruffly.

“A very pretty lady,” Varric winks at the warden, ignoring Cullen’s words. “Listen, Curly. This girl is sweet and shy. I just want to help her feel more comfortable here. She’s like a scared little mouse, but I have a feeling that she could really flourish if we make her feel more comfortable.”

Cullen grunts, not raising his eyes from the reports in front of him.

“Oh come on, Cullen. One evening entertaining a pretty lady can’t be too taxing,” Alistair pleads humorously.

After more and more persistent prodding at the commander, he finally folds once they admit they won’t stop until he does. Varric leaves to get their table situated and meet with their pupil while Cullen carefully stores and piles his work for the morning, or perhaps later that night. He then follows Alistair out of his office door.

“This is ridiculous,” he groans as he locks the door behind him.

Blackwall meets with them in the courtyard by the barn, having previously agreed to Varric’s proposition. Cullen enjoys the Warden’s company. They have become fast friends due to their shared interest in modern siege equipment and the like. Cullen quickly strikes up a conversation about some of the advancements in trebuchets that he has been reading about recently.

The trio pleasantly walks through the grounds on the way to the tavern, laughing and enjoying the conversation. Cullen decides that perhaps he was a little too hasty, the men Varric chose for this endeavor were at least the sort with which he could hold an interesting conversation.

They reach the tavern and immediately see the barkeep about a round of ale. Alistair looks around the room for Varric and his female companion. He chuckles and waves behind them.  Nudging Cullen with his elbow he murmurs, delighted, “Oh Cullen, you’re going to enjoy this…”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he smiles, his mood lighter in his present company, and turns to see where Alistair now points. He sees her and his face falls.

“That lovely little cinder maid who gets you all aflutter,” Alistair jests. He chuckles as he spins back to the direction of the bar. Rubbing his hands together, thoroughly pleased with himself, “This is going to be good, indeed.”

There she is. The woman who seems to always make him forget himself. She is staring at him, horrified. He is now certain that his fears about her are true. She cannot stand him. And why would she? He has done nothing but talk over her and run her down. Maker’s breath, the first time he laid eyes on her, he threw his blasted philter at her. He is obviously the last person she wanted to see here tonight.

He should have stayed in his office.

Upon receiving their ale, he walks across the tavern to her. He can’t help but stare at her, he wishes he could, but he can’t. Each step causes his heart to race a little faster. She says something to Varric who sits beside her, her face directed to the dwarf, but her eyes are focused on him instead. She does not look pleased. This is going to be terrible.

He gulps and inhales a steadying breath before sitting. Of course he is provided the seat directly across from her, why wouldn’t he be?

He should be working on his reports.

Alistair starts philandering with her instantaneously. She is receptive to the warden’s flirtations, which causes a knot in his stomach. Cullen has a hard time hiding his annoyance, but he tries. He attempts to look at her with an even expression. He knows that he failed terribly, due to her reaction when her giggling smile vanishes as soon as her eyes travel to his. He desperately tries to regain some ground by introducing her to Blackwall.

As Varric begins to deal the cards, he refers to Anne as ‘Sugars’. While he knows that Varric enjoys these silly nicknames, he cannot help but feel irritation for the one he has bestowed on her. Of all the things… She deserves better than that.

“She’s far too sweet for me to witness nobles walk all over her any longer,” Varric continues. Cullen inwardly, begrudgingly agrees with the sentiment. “I want to teach her some cunning tactics. Coax out the fire that I have a feeling is hidden under this modest exterior you are viewing at the moment.”

Anne blushes. She delicately covers her face in embarrassment. Cullen feels both annoyed with Varric for putting the poor woman on the spot, and in awe of her lovely innocence.

Varric chuckles and gestures a thumb toward her, “See? What’d I tell ya?”

Cullen sees nothing but a group of men pressuring a chaste and lovely woman into vices and folly. This is a truly wretched idea. He cuts his eyes at the meddling dwarf sitting to her right.  “I’m not sure I agree with the idea of trying to change her, I think Anne is fine how she is,” his throat hitches after the words tumble from his regretful mouth. Why did he say that? That was far too forward. Nervously, he shifts in his seat, attempting to right himself. He needs to get his act together.

Anne’s large, beautiful, crystal blue eyes flash at him, causing Cullen to freeze in place. Quickly, her gaze fall back to the table. He questions everything he has ever said to her, wishing she would look at him without fear. How much he’d love to gaze into those eyes, like gems of aquamarine. 

He watches her delicate fingers cup either side of her large mug. He wants to reach out and touch her hand, reassure her, apologize for whatever he has done to make her uncomfortable around him. However, it’s probably for the best anyway, what would he do if she was interested in him. Nothing. He is in no position to play with these trivial thoughts. He takes a drink of his ale, reserving himself to move on from this preposterous crush.

He realizes he’s not been listening to the conversation happening around him when she lifts her eyes toward Blackwall and bashfully speaks, while adorably trying to sit taller, “It’s a little intimidating, Ser, if I am honest.”

“Just think of it as a game with friends, because that’s all this really is, isn’t it?” Alistair quips to his left. Cullen feels the warden is just a little too friendly with the woman, but she appears to relax at his words.

“That’s a lovely thought, Ser,” she says.

“Okay, Anne. First of all, call me Alistair. I won’t be involved in the dismantling of a young lady’s innocence, all the while she calls me Ser.”

 _What_ did he just say? How… how disgraceful. What is Alistair’s game here, exactly? Cullen watches the two of them clink their mugs together. He side eye’s his old friend, disapproval writ on his face. Alistair catches the look and winks at Cullen with a swift shrug.

As Varric explains the rules of the game to Anne, Cullen oft finds himself gazing at her. She relaxes in her surroundings. The corners of his lips sneak into an up-turn as she laughs. A beautiful sound that he adores hearing. Her laughter is as bubbly and sweet as champagne.

But her laughter comes at a cost. For the cause of her amusement is brought on by the continued flirtations of Alistair. He cracks horrific jokes at every opportunity. Bad puns. Daft metaphors. Cullen shoots glares at him repeatedly, but the warden persists.

Once the rounds begin, Cullen eases into the situation. He decides to simply block out Alistair’s blatant display by continuing their earlier discussion. He drinks a little more than he had planned. A little more than he should. But he finds it helps him deal with the pang in his chest, once he realizes that Anne is actively avoiding eye contact with him, or any contact with him at all, for that matter.

She sits quietly, but he notices that she seems more and more confident. She also wins quite a lot. Intrigued, he pays more attention to her game-play, distracting himself from her face and how it makes him feel.

Eventually, Alistair asks her where she is from. He wishes he could say he had known her. Perhaps if he did, she wouldn’t feel so put-off by him now. That would have been before he was a Templar. Before he was a lot of things.

Blackwall comments on her current five round winning streak and Cullen notices a glint in her eyes that he cannot resist. Maybe it is the ale talking, maybe it is his innate adoration for competition, or maybe it is both, but he dares to goad her. “I think I am on to you now, Anne. I see what strategy you are playing.”

She responds to him. Finally. The jewels in her eyes flashing hot with excitement like glowing runes. His chest feels hot. “Is that so, Commander?” She smirks at him, “Bring it on, then.”

He can’t help himself, playful arrogance is beautiful on her. Now he understands what Varric was trying to tempt out of her, and why. Perhaps he even understands why Alistair wouldn’t shut up and stop luridly grabbing all of her attentions. “Consider it brought, my lady,” he grins. He’s rarely been one to turn down a challenge, after all.

Before he knows it, round after around, she has taken all of his coin. He stares at the cards in the middle of the table and scratches his head. Where had it all gone wrong? He thought for sure he had figured her out. But she has done nothing but confound him more. He can’t help but feel a tinge of delight when she cracks a joke at his expense. He hopes it is as good natured as it sounds.

Maybe he could have a chance to win her affections after all?

No.

No, he needs to end those thoughts once and for all. As he is sure she would say, _it wouldn’t be prudent._


	2. Salty Anne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt came from 5ftgarden on Tumblr during 'Friday Night Drunk Writing Circle' - it was as fallows: Salty Anne! “Seriously, just fuck off! I’m not in the fucking mood!”
> 
> She wanted salty Anne, I gave her salty Anne. Consider this an exaggerated version of what happens after Anne leaves Cullen's office in episode 7!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again.. this is exaggerated, >highly< exaggerated. This is just for fun, not considered canon to the story ;)

Anne bursts from Cullen’s office door. Pissed. The door flies open, slamming and rattling against the stone of the battlements. 

She storms down the steps, absolutely livid. She doesn’t care when her stomping and trudging feet splash through the courtyard, resulting in mud splattering all over her own boots and skirts from dirty puddles.

Just fuck it.

Fuck it all to the _fucking_ void.

She enters the kitchen, throwing a metal tray that once held the commander’s meal against the far wall as she does. It slams against the stone and clatters to the ground. The only sounds to be heard in the room are from the roaring fire, and the metal screaming its ringing sound on the rock. Everyone in the room is frozen silent and staring at Anne.

The lead bitch of the kitchen bitches speaks first, “Oh, looks like the Commander got Anne’s smalls in a pinch. Prince charming say something to piss of his cinder maid?” She crosses her arms and looks at Anne smugly. An arrogant face Anne would be happy to tear off for her.

“You can just right fuck off, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” Anne glares. “And someone else can go to his highness’ office to retrieve his dishes. And take his dinner. And.. and.. and everything else! I’m NOT doing it anymore.” Her face is bright red. Hands balled in white knuckled fists, elbows locked straight, arms to her sides.

“Right, that’s enough. Go see Head Housekeeper Elsa. Now.” Donatien orders the serving maid, pointing to the door.

“With pleasure,” Anne snaps at the head cook, causing him to jerk backwards and glare at her indignantly. She returns his glare, her rage too strong for her to give a shit. About anything. “Maybe she will pull me back out of this blasted hell hole.”

Anne storms forward to the door leading out of the kitchens, and toward the head housekeeper’s office. The kitchen girls start to snicker as she passes. Anne turns to their leader, slamming her fist hard on the wooden counter behind and beside the elf. “May the dread wolf take you… _cunt_ ,” she glowers at the girl.

With that, she exits the room. She tries to ignore the blatant, raucous laughter that permeates the hall from the kitchen behind her as she marches. But instead she just seethes.

Fuck all of them.

Fuck them all to the void.


	3. I can’t stop thinking about you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a 'Drunk Writing Circle' from @ma-sulevin
> 
> Prompt:  
>  I pulled this off of MY fluff list, because I really wanted something for you to write for Anne but didn't like any of the listed prompts for her. Here it goes: "I can’t stop thinking about you." Preferably her and Cullen, of course. She doesn't have to speak out loud to him, could be internal monologue?  
> \--  
> I love this prompt. Here are the short, sweet, and tortured, inner thoughts of my dear Anne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after episode 02 of Skyhold Abbey

He had been so kind to her. It was startling, given the fact she had feared him so. Well, if she is honest, she still fears him… immensely. But, the man whom she thought was so ferocious and rigid, showed her a softness she would have never expected.

She still isn’t over it. Even though she hasn’t seen him in such close quarters since that day in his office. The day where they both felt ashamed, both embarrassed about his lunch splayed out across the floor. He seemed genuine when they spoke as she cleaned; truly interested in who she is and how she got there.

Anne cannot help but wonder why. Why would the commander of the inquisition have even the slightest interest in who she is, or that she even exists. She is no one. Just another mouse running around Skyhold, beckoned this way and that. He surely is just a kinder fellow that she had assumed; gentle and bashful, rather than mean and aggressive. Though, he most certainly can be that as well, there was founding in her assumptions, after all.

Her stomach twists and her heart jumps, but she is ashamed in her body’s reactions. She has no right to harbor a crush on Commander Rutherford. No right at all. Those are lofty goals for a girl even two times her better, let alone  _her._

But she can’t stop thinking about him.

She always knew he was handsome, but up close… inches away… he was  _stunning_ …

“Anne, for Andraste’s sake, would you please get your dillydallying arse over here,” assistant cook Mairéad hollers at the servant, snapping Anne from her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Anne says softly as she walks to the cook’s side. “What do you need of me?”

“Well since you have all the time in the world to stand around looking at the sky, I thought maybe you could make the time to go to the stables and see if that  _dalish_ know’s when our shipment of root vegetables will be in. It is nearly a day late already.” Mairéad grunts, “You’d think the stable boys could keep track of their own wagons and horses.”

“Yes, Messere, right away,” face sullen, Anne bows her head politely. She exits through the back of the kitchen. Down the steps on to the ground, hurrying toward the stables, she looks down at her feet the entire way.


	4. The Snow Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Started with one simple prompt, "Snow Storm," that turned into an epic 3 part series. Here are all three parts together in one place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind you, this is just for fun, and not considered something that happened in Skyhold Abbey's canon..........yet, anyway....

When a fresh and fluffy snow fall was reported down the mountain from Skyhold, she had to see. She hadn’t left the keep in weeks. While it is large, she has been going a bit stir crazy. A walk in beautiful snow covered wilderness is just what she needs.

She begged and borrowed from everyone she could find that was kind enough to let her wear their winter gear. The magic of Skyhold often keeps the temperatures in a range where warm winter clothing is not needed for the people who never leave. Plus, Anne’s humble status ensures that she does not have the coin needed for such ‘frivolous’ purchases.

Once she had enough layers - and bribed head housekeeper Elsa to even let her take the afternoon off - Anne set for the gates. Large layers of coats, scarves, gloves, and a warm floppy hat made it so only her eyes shown through. But her smile was beaming within.

Commander Cullen is standing by the gates, talking to a few recruits, when she passes. He does a double take when he sees her. Her blue eyes and wisps of brown hair peeking through her bundle are the only clues he has, but he still recognizes the young maid. He laughs and walks away from his recruits. Who incidentally, stood there perplexed in his sudden departure, unsure if he was done with them or not.

Anne sees the commander and stops in her tracks. He chuckles warmly at her, his eyes squinted and shining in a smile. With one finger, he delicately pulls back a wrap of her scarf around her face. “Anne? Is that you? Maker bless, why are you wearing all of this?” Confident after seeing proof of her face, he releases the scarf gently. The knitting takes its place back over her nose.

She smiles proudly, even though he cannot see it. Her voice is amusingly muffled by the layers. “I am going to the show!”

“What show?”

“No, bow!”

“What?”

She laughs and pulls the scarf down, “The SNOW! Commander, the  _snow_. There is a fresh new layer of it down in the forest. I am going for a walk.” She beams at him in a way that makes her chest warm. “I love snow and I never get to leave. So, I’m goin’!” She giggles at herself before placing her layers of scarf back over her face.

“Just don’t stray too far, Anne. The area is safe, but you still need to be wary of wolves.” She waves off his concerns as if they are nonsense and trudges by him.

She is a sight to see indeed, and Cullen chuckles more to himself as he watches her confidently march through the gates and over the bridge. He admires her spontaneity and tenacity about seeing something as simple as snow. Especially when the mountains surrounding the keep are all covered with the stuff.

–

When Anne reaches the wilderness path in the forest down the mountain from Skyhold, she can only see where it is from the clearing of the trees. The path itself is already covered with a few inches. Anne is thankful she was able to procure tall enough boots for the occasion. Even if they are just a little too big and her feet slide around with each step.

The snow started falling again as she walked. The snowflakes large and clumpy, as well as soft and delicate. She catches them in her gloves and examines their shapes.  She admires the branches of the trees surrounding her, highlighted with white on top - dark branches and pine needles contrasting below. She listens to the silence, only a quiet echo of light wind and creaking wood.

It is beautiful. It is all so beautiful.

Anne feels more at peace in this forest than she has in a very long time.

She continues to wander past when she knows she should turn around. She doesn’t want to go back. Her stubbornness must have made her blind to the fact that the snow fall increased. Instead of being worried that her sight is growing more limited, she is in awe of the cascading curtain of white.

It is not until she can no longer see in front of her, and the wind picks up – drastically blowing and ripping through her – that she realizes she has wandered into a storm. She turns around, but the blinding wind and white disorients her. She isn’t sure which way she came from.

When she almost walks into a tree, she begins to panic.

She tries her best to trace her footsteps, unsure if she followed the right direction. Gripping her body tight, desperately trying to stay warm, she slowly trudges through the snow. By this point it is up to mid-calf.

And she curses herself for being a fool.

And she damns the Maker for never being on her side.

Tears sting her skin and freeze from the howling winds. She must find the road to Skyhold. She must get out of the storm, or she will die here like the idiot girl she is. She cannot find her previous tracks any longer. Either she went the wrong way from her tree debacle, or they are already covered from the storm.

She knows it is futile, but she pulls down her scarf and screams for help. Maybe someone one the road – if she is near it – will hear her. As if anyone would be traveling the mountain pass during a snow storm. She stops her screams. She stops her trekking. She falls into a heap of self-pity, lost in the wilderness.

She doesn't know how long she sat there before she hears it.

It is faint, but she distinctly heard something. She prays it was not a wolf. Maker, please, she will take back every damned thing she said, just don’t let it be a wolf.

She hears it again. Yes. That is not a wolf, thank the Maker. That is a man. He is shouting. He is shouting over and over now. He is shouting  _her_  name.

“I’m here!” she cries. “I’m over here!” She gets off her sorry knees and heads in the direction of the man. She  _hopes_  she is heading in his direction, anyway.

But she is, his voice is growing louder now. They continue to call back to each other until she sees the shadowy figure of a man on a horse. She waves her arms frantically and screams to him. Through the thick chaos of the storm, Commander Cullen appears atop his steed. Anne could cry, she is so thankful to see him.

Cullen pulls her up onto his horse so that she sits between his legs in front of him. He grips her tightly with one strong, armored arm, pulling her securely against his body, and guides the horse back to the road.

He yells through the wind, concern weighing on his voice, and he grips her even tighter as he speaks, “I’m so glad I found you.”

Anne wraps her arms around his and clutches him as tight as she can, “I am, too.”

 

*****

 

Cullen’s steed galloped as fast as it could up the snow laden mountain road.

The closer they got to the gates of the keep, the less the storm raged and snow piled. By the time they reach the bridge to Skyhold, only a light mist covers the area. The magic of the structure causing the atmosphere to be warm just enough that the small snowflakes drifting in the sky melt upon entry.

The horse gallops at full speed across the bridge and into the courtyard. Cullen pulls the horse to a stop at the base of the steps leading to the Great Hall. He jumps from the horse, then reaches to gingerly scoop Anne from the saddle and into his arms. He cradles her trembling, silent, and frail body securely against his chest as he carries her up the steps. No matter how many layers she was wearing, she was not prepared to withstand the bitter cold snow storm for as long as she did.

Cullen’s face is as serious now as it is in battle. Wide-eyed people stop in their tracks at the sight of the Commander carrying the bundle of trembling, teeth clattering rags up the steps. One person runs back to open the large heavy wooden door to the hall.

Without looking at the person, eyes always ahead in piercing focus, he pauses briefly in the doorway. The commander barks an order, “Send a mage healer to Lady Montilyet’s office at once.” Without delay, he continues his quick and unyielding pace through the hall, marching Anne to the door leading to the ambassador’s office. He knows Lady Montilyet has a substantial hearth, as well as privacy from gossip mongers and on-lookers. Anne needs warmth, not more trouble.

Another faceless body opens the office door for him to charge through. Swiftly, he brings Anne directly to the fire, and places her in a chair there, pulling it closer to the flames. He kneels beside the girl, rubbing his hands over her arms and legs, causing the friction she desperately needs to fuel her blood and warm her body.

His eyes do not leave Anne’s face. She stares blankly into the fire. Her body shivering, her breath, shallow and ragged. Cullen notices Josie stand from behind her desk from the corner of his eye. “I think she has frostbite on her cheeks and nose, ambassador. I sent for a healer, but we need blankets.” He briefly looks away from Anne in order to catch Josie’s eyes in his. He looks at her with a seriousness that is so strong, Josie could swear he is saving Anne from Corypheus himself. “Now,” he orders, and Josie runs to the hall for assistance.

He immediately turns his eyes back to Anne. As soon as his eyes fall on the maid, the intensity of his brow, the rigidity of his mouth, the cold calculated demeanor of the commander, all soften. She is looking at him. Her face is pale looks battered and fragile. Her nose and cheeks are wind burned and too bright of a red. Her lips are a disturbingly deep shade of purple. He removes his gloves with urgency in order to cup her cheeks in his warm hands. But she winces at his touch, her raw and frozen skin piercing in pain from the contact.

A mage healer runs through the door. Cullen reluctantly stands and backs away in order to give the healer space, but his eyes never break from hers. Her gaze never leaves his. His voice is much softer now, so soft that he has to clear his throat in order to find the strength to make it audible. “I thin— _erhem_ —I think she may have the beginning stages of — ”

“Frostbite. Yes. But it not so bad that we cannot fix,” the mage says warmly, drawing Anne’s eyes away from the commander’s to look at the friendly and calming face in front of her. The healer attempts to soothe the fear that lives in Anne’s eyes. “Hello, dear. I am going to pulse some magic into your skin now, to heal it… okay?” she coos at the girl. “There is nothing to fear.” Anne nods once in silence.

As the mage's hands glow over her cheeks, she looks back to the commander.  He appears so worried for her. As the ripping pain eases on her face, her senses come flooding back. He saved her. Commander Cullen himself, rode into the blizzard encompassed forest to search for _her_. Maker knows how long he searched before he finally found her… and he saved her.

She is alive because of him.

He is looking at her, a nervous crinkle between his brows. His lips, slightly parted as if to speak, but without knowing what to say.

She doesn’t know what to say either. Her heart hammers in her chest. She fretfully pulls her bottom lip into her mouth to chew on it, only to squeak in pain and shudder at the taste of blood.

The healer sighs, but not with impatience, “Careful dear, your skin is still too brittle.”

She wishes she knew what to say to the commander. ‘Thank you’ would be an obvious choice, but her feelings are deeper than that, and she can’t quite find the courage to say anything with the way he is looking at her. No man has ever looked at her this way.

No man has ever risked his life for her.

The office door flies open again. Cullen and Anne snap their eyes to the door with a start. Lady Montilyet floods into her office with her assistants, piles of wool blankets in tow. Cullen walks past them, heading to the door.

“Where are you going, Commander?” Josephine asks.

“I umm…” his hand reaches to nervously rub the back of his neck. He glances back to Anne who is staring at him. She wants to ask him to stay, not to leave, but she still cannot find her words. He sighs and looks down to the ground before one last forlorn connection with Anne’s sad eyes. “I should… I should go. She needs rest. I shouldn’t over crowd the room.” He pulls his hand back down from his neck. He lowers his head, his shoulders slump, he turns away from her, and walks to the door. “I should go.”

The words feel like a dagger to the heart for both of them.

 

*****

 

Once Anne was healed, a hot bath was drawn for her to help raise her body temperature. Afterward, Lady Montiliyet insisted Anne stay in her office by the fire for the rest of the evening. She was given a fresh frock and piled with wool blankets, the ambassador even gave her a small journal to sketch in. The fact that Lady Montiliyet even knew that Anne likes to draw was flabbergasting.

Anne couldn’t help but feel completely embarrassed about the entire situation. She was sure as soon as reality hit, and she was back with the rest of the servants, Housekeeper Elsa would chastise her endlessly. Anne worried about what her punishment would be. She was sure she’d never be allowed to take an afternoon off for a walk again.

She stared into fire, empty and opened journal in her hands. Replaying the day in her head. Replaying Cullen in her head.

 _Cullen_?

No. No. No. Not  _Cullen_. The  _Commander_.

Replaying Commander Rutherford in her head.

No. That’s not any better.

Best to just stop that nonsense now.

The door to Lady Montilyet’s office opens, she hears loud conversing of a few people. She leans around the chair to see. Sister Leliana, the Inquisitor, and  ~~Cullen~~...  _Commander Rutherford_  step through and walk down the hall to the war room.

Anne catches herself staring at the commander once she sees that he glances in her direction. Their eyes lock just enough for her to freak out and press her body back against the chair so that her face is no longer visible to him.

She listens to the leaders of the Inquisition converse and welcome Lady Montiliyet to their group. She listens to the commander's voice echo against the stone of the next hall, until it is swallowed up behind the doors of the war room.

Anne nervously chews her lip until it bleeds again. She desperately tries to  _not_  think about the commander, but instead is only able to picture the look on his face while he watched her be healed hours before.

She looks down at the journal on her lap, and all she wants to do is draw his face.

That is most unwise…

Maybe just his eyes? No one will know it is him from just his eyes.

He does has a lovely nose….

His lips are definitely a beautiful and defining feature…

Anne doesn’t realize how much time has passed, or that she ended up drawing the commander’s face until it’s too late.  The war meeting has been released, and she is sitting here with a drawing of the commander.

She panics; she doesn’t want anyone to see. No one should ever see this. She rips the page out and crumples it up. She chucks it at the fire. And of course… she misses it completely. The maid struggles to rise from under her heavy blankets and scramble to retrieve the paper.

“You must be Anne?” The Inquisitor says, far closer to her than she realized as she bends over to pick up the crumpled drawing. She freezes momentarily, then snaps the paper from the floor and shoves it into her pocket. She turns to find the Commander and the Inquisitor staring at her from just behind her seat.

“Yes, your Worship. I’m so sorry about all for this, your Worship.” She bows humbly, heart racing and in her throat.

“All that matters is that you are safe,” He smiles at her. “I’m glad Cullen was able to find you, amazing how he knew you were out there alone and just where to find you, isn’t it?” He reaches behind the Commander and slaps him on the back of his shoulder, startling the man who Anne just realized was staring at her again. Her cheeks grow uncommonly hot.

The Inquisitor glances amusedly between the two, “Oh good, it looks that your blood is pumping well now. Look at the lovely rosy color of those cheeks, Cullen.”

Anne has a strong feeling that the Inquisitor is playing with them. She has never thought ill of the man before, but she does now. She furrows her brow slightly and presses her lips in a thin line, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“You should still be resting though, serah.” He gestures for her to take her seat, then points to the other and looks at the Commander. “You too, Cullen.”

The Commander's hand flies to the back of his neck, “Oh I shouldn’t I have paperwork—”

“Nonsense. Sit.”

Commander Rutherford begrudgingly takes the seat across from Anne as she piles her blankets back over her lap. He turns toward the Inquisitor as if to say something, only to find the man gone, and the sound of the office door opening and shutting. The Commander turns his attention to the fire instead.

The pair silently stare into the flames for what feels like an eternity, but realistically is probably about five minutes.

Finally the Commander speaks, “Are you… are you well, Anne?”

She swallows and looks across to the man, his eyes are still fixated on the flames. The light bounces and flickers on his features beautifully. The crumpled paper in her pocket burns a hole into her leg. “I… I am, Ser… I need to – to – to thank you,” she stammers quietly.

His amber eyes find hers, his face is straight but not completely cold. “There is no need.”

“You saved my life.”

“I knew you were out there.”

“You could have died. It would have been all my fault. I’m so sorry, Commander. I’m such a foo—”

“No. No you’re not,” his face softens. “When I saw the storm blow in, and found out you hadn’t returned… I couldn’t lose…” he clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair, darting his eyes away.

Before he can finish his thought the office door opens. One of the elvhen women from the kitchens walks in with a tray. She marches it over and places it on a table between the two chairs. “Hot chocolate ordered by the Inquisitor, Commander and Lady…” She nods and bows at the Commander then turns to address Anne only to lose her voice at the sight of the maid sitting there. Anne catches a twist in the woman’s face. A flash of disgust and a glare. “Anne,” she says curtly.

Anne grabs the bridge of her nose and squeezes as the woman leaves to the room. No telling what will be said about her now. None of it will be good. She removes her head with a sigh and slumps into her chair. She swivels her gaze back at the commander who is silently staring at the mugs of chocolate between them. Steam slowly rising and curling into the air.

“I’m afraid that will be no good for you, will it?” He says softly and sullenly.

“No. But none of this is. None of it ever is.” She sighs the words. She realizes that she forgot herself and just complained in front of him. She sits of straight and searches for a way to fix her words. “But it is all my fault, I shouldn’t have gone on that bloody walk. I’m truly sorry, Commander.”

“The important part is that you are safe. The- the Inquisition couldn’t lose you, Anne.”

“I’m just a servant.”

“You are much more than that.” His voice is so soft, Anne is sure she just misheard him. She definitely misheard that. He did not say that. He said… something else.

He reaches and takes a quick drink from the mug. He keeps his gaze diverted from hers. Very formally he says, “I am glad you are safe and on the mend, Anne. If you will excuse me, I have a stack of reports waiting for me in my office.” He leaves quickly, long and focused strides up to the office door where he disappears.

Anne pulls the paper from her pocket and unfolds it. She smiles at the face drawn upon it. She glides her fingertip along the bottom lip, before scrunching her face and the paper and throwing it into the fire.

This time it lands in the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should also say that this is my favorite set of prompts I ever filled ❤


	5. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @5ftgarden Tumblr Prompt: Anne's first time ice skating. Bonus points for gallant Cullen.

Anne stands chewing her lip alongside the ice, watching the skaters gaiety. 

The field day Josephine had planned for the members of the keep is going off without a hitch. Anne enjoyed herself in numerous activities, but she couldn’t lie, ice skating looked particularly lovely.

Could she get the stones to do it herself?

No. Probably not.

“Are you going to skate?” Cullen’s voice pulls her from her thoughts, she immediately turtles her head between her shoulders and smiles shyly.

“Oh… I’ve never done it before, I’m not sure that I can.”

“I will tell you a secret,” he leans into her ear, even though it hides behind her shoulder, it only means he must get that much closer. “I never have either,” she feels his breath in her hair. 

Goose bumps trickle down her spine. 

“Shall we try, together?” he lends a gloved hand for hers. She takes it and they walk to man near by with blades to strap to their shoes.

Anne and Cullen get fitted for the appropriate sized blades. Cullen first ties his, then kneels before Anne to tie the blades onto her old thin boots. His gloves held between his teeth for ease of access with the laces.

Anne watches him tie, her fingers begging her to rake them through his hair.

But she doesn’t.

Upon finishing the lacing, Cullen’s fingers beg to transcend possibility and trail up her skirts, to feel the soft curves of her legs.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, bladed up, he places his gloves firmly over his tingling fingers, stands, and clasps her hand. They walk awkwardly in the snow on the way to the ice.

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course.”

They each take their first tentative glide on the ice. Shaky legs cause fingers to grasp tighter. They giggle and wobble together, holding each other steady, but to no avail. Neither one is steady. Cullen is the first to fall, far less graceful than the already clumsy maid servant.

He attempts to let go of her hand, but she grips him with both. Thinking for some reason, that she has any chance in keeping him upright. What she does instead, is fall directly on top of his chest as he back hits the ice.

They lie on the ice dazed by the fact that they fell, and that their lips are suddenly a feather’s width apart. They stare, blinking at first. Anne is the first to  _come-to_ , she tries to push off of him while mumbling apologies and blushing. Cullen forgets himself as she slips a little on the ice. He grabs her, hands tight around her waist.

“Are you alright?” he breathes.

Worried, her eyes darting around everything of his in her view, “Yes, but you’re back, your head… are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he reassures her with a smile.

“Not a lot of places to ice skate in Honnleath,” she grins.

His grip never wants to leave her. He could lie here with her all day. There is one way to ensure that he can, no matter the number of bruises he may rack up in the process. “Perhaps, we should continue to practice?” 


	6. Jealous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @long_liv_prairies tumblr prompt (and one of the more popular prompts I've posted): “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” for Anne and Cullen :)

The Commander paces in his office. Trapped ever since a group of Orlesians came to Skyhold after the ball at Halamshiral. He fears that leaving the confines of his office will open him up to more unwanted questions, and proposals …and… touching.

A light rap on the door just before it opens, Anne’s sweet face peaks in. “Commander? Are you going to the banquet tonight or will you be dining in your office?”

The commander sighs at the sight of her and almost forgets why he is hiding. A little too eagerly, he rushes to the door to open it all the way for her to enter. Her brows raise at his display, making him remember himself. His hand finds the back of his neck and he coughs awkwardly, turning away from her to pace once again. “I’m uhh, I am unsure. I know Lady Montiliyet would like me to be there, but… those people. I can’t…” He sighs, “But, I’m going a little stir crazy in here, frankly.”

“I see," Anne says and ponders for a minute, tapping her fingers on her chin. "I think I know what to do. Sit tight, Commander. I will be back,” and with that Anne slipped from the door, leaving the Commander puzzled and scratching his head.

He continued to pace as he waited. Not even cracking his door to see where she went, or if she is coming back. Afraid someone horrible would spot him and infiltrate his sanctuary. About a half-hour goes by and still nothing. He fears she was tasked something else, perhaps. He wonders what she was doing in the first place.

Suddenly Anne slips through the door, only opening it enough to get in. She carries with her a sack and a rosy smile. The commander forgets his worry instantly upon seeing her face. He wishes he could see it more often.

“Alright, Commander. I think this is just what you need.” She hands him the sack. He looks in to see folded clothing inside. He lifts his quizzical expression to her cheery one. “Put it on, trust me.” She pauses and looks at the floor then back to him. “I will wait outside, come out when you’re ready.”

A few minutes later the Commander tentatively opens the door to his office. He is dressed in common servant clothing, with a servant's cowl on his head. He looks at the maid skeptically. “What is your plan, Anne?”

“We are giving you a much needed break C—Kevin.”

“Kevin? I…”

“May I?” she lifts her hand toward his face, he nods but his heart rate rises as she gently reaches into his cowl. They both smile and laugh under their breath as she messes his hair. “Just in case,” she smirks and pulls some of his longer locks to the front.

Satisfied she takes his hand, “Follow me, and keep your head down, let the cowl shadow your face.” He does as she commands and follows her down the steps of the battlements, across the courtyard, through the kitchens, down a series of hallways and into a room full of servants on leave. All the while she is holding his hand to guide him, and he is staring it and at her in awe and appreciation.

Through it all, they passed countless numbers of nobles and workers who would have otherwise stopped what they were doing to address him. But no one did. He had faded into the background. “No one noticed me,” he says as they sit at a corner table in a room he decided must be a gathering space for servants on leave.

“No one notices us unless they have something to gripe about,” she winks at him. She notices that he is staring at her, but unable to read his expression, she says, “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“I must admit, I rather am,” he laughs.

They spend the evening relaxing and playing cards with some of the other servants. She introduces him as Kevin. He does his best to disguise his voice with an accent from Kirkwall instead, an attempt that makes Anne giggle and cover her mouth - as she does - more than once.

She even takes him to have some of the food the banquet had left over after the serving ended. They walk the back halls of the castle together, no one the wiser of who he really is. No one looking at him long enough to realize who he is. No one cares to know who he is.

The relief is just what he needed. This is the most relaxed he has been in, well, years. But he also finds himself happy to be here with her. She dropped her guard a little, relaxed around him. When she takes him back to his office at the end of the night, she is almost glowing from telling a story about a time she had to chase a mabari out of the chickens back home in Honnleath.

She giggles as they come to a stop at his door. He smiles at her and takes her hands in his, causing her to stop and flush. “Thank you, for this Anne.”

She suddenly seems to have found her shyness again and says nothing, just looks down as her cheeks redden further.

“I shouldn’t make a habit out of this, I fear someone would catch on eventually. But for tonight, this was lovely,” He brings her fingers to his lips and kisses each hand delicately.

“You’re—You’re welcome, Commander,” she softly stammers and bends her knees in a quick curtsey.

“Cullen,” he smiles at her and squeezes her hands in his.

She looks up into his eyes, her blue oceans of emotion sparkling at him. She smiles.

“Cullen.”


	7. Fainting Spells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @ma-sulevin tumblr prompt: "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay… I had TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS!!!! 
> 
> This is set in the future, when Anne is more comfortable and less shy in Skyhold. (She will get there, we just gotta give her time) She has known Cullen for a while now, and…. Yeah… Anne can get cheeky with it. Just go with it.
> 
> I know I use a very un-Thedas phrase right away… get over it. Do they play golf in Thedas? I could see Solas going a round or two… do they do rounds in golf? Do I care? This is DWC. Just read it ;)

Anne notices Cullen before he sees her. In fact, she is quite sure that he doesn’t notice her at all.  _Par for the course_. He walks in front of her and she crosses behind. But it had rained that day, and parts of the ground were slippery, to say the least. Cullen’s quick and focused pace soon got the better of him, as his boot slipped on a section of mud that was particularly slick.

Because the Maker loves to laugh at Anne’s expense, or perhaps that Dread Wolf Bel’nas told her about has picked her as a victim, she doesn’t see Cullen’s slip in time. The Commander completely loses his balance, no hope of recovery, and falls backwards, just as Anne passes behind him.

The pair land in a muddy splash of ridiculousness. Mud coats Anne’s hair, face, and body. She is sure that her ass will be black and blue tomorrow, along with her thighs, as Cullen’s massive armored body landed directly on her lap.

His face is shocked and appalled as he slowly comes to the realization of what just happened. 

Even though she is in pain, and now covered in mud _and_ a stunned man, she cannot help but laugh. It was just all too perfect, was it not? She sits up, bracing herself in the mud with her hands, laughing at the man in her lap. She brings a hand to her mouth as she giggles. The loss of balance from the lack of support, coupled with her giggling causes her to slip back into the mud. A splash rising from her body’s impact, spraying both of them again.

She continues to laugh as Cullen tries to rise to his feet. He slips a few times and almost falls onto her again, but catches and steadies himself. He smirks and flushes, looking down at her writhing, hysterically laughing, and illustrious form in the mud. 

“Maker’s breath, Anne. I’m so sorry!” He tries to suppress laughter, but her reaction is infectious. A few chortles burst from him as he surveys the two of them and the gawking eyes surrounding them. Cullen reaches down to provide and helping hand to the maiden. She takes it, but before she has fully risen, she slips and slides deep into his bracing arms.

He catches her against his body... and their laughing ceases. 

Their mud covered faces look at each other. Anne feels her heart thud sharply, as it does any time the commander looks at her with those golden eyes. She smiles and attempts to wink at him, although she has never been adept at the gesture, and instead appears to just be blinking mud from her eye. 

“Gee, Commander… You know, if you wanted my attention that badly, you didn’t have to go to such extremes…” she says to him, with far too much flirtation to be proper. Although, no amount of flirtation is proper.

Cullen immediately flushes deeply, but it is barely detectable through his sloppy brown covered face. He holds Anne a little tighter before he realizes what he is doing and relaxes his grasp. 

His voice is hoarse and strained with awkwardness, “Umm, we should go clean up… I mean, Maker bless… I mean, we should go to the bath house,” Anne eyes widen and he shouts too loudly to cover up his words, “Not together! I mean, separately… but I will walk you there,” he shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, you know what I mean, Anne. Stop looking at me like that. Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Commander,” Anne smirks as they gingerly step through the mud and head in the direction of the bathhouses...to each go into the appropriate rooms, of course. Not to enter the same bath. No. Of course not. 

Don’t be ridiculous.


	8. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt from @5ftgarden on tumblr...but I didn't follow it very well, you'll see how. This original prompt was for: "It's their blood"

* * *

With the defenses of Skyhold, Anne thought she was safe. She thought many men and women with far more skill than she would protect her, from anything. She underestimated the House of Repose. Truthfully, she had never even heard of the House of Repose.

Anne didn’t know that the Ambassador had a contract for her life. She was unaware of the fact that assassins were set to infiltrate the keep at any point. She certainly didn’t know that said assassins would be so skilled, so proficient, that they could ease their way into the kitchens. Work next to her and feign loyalty to the Inquisition.

Anne was training the fledging servant, by the name of Ares. She showed her where to go, how to go about it, and who to—and not to—talk to.  The woman was silent, but Anne didn’t bat an eyelash. She was used to people who were quiet. After all, she herself was quiet while she worked. It was only to the few she felt comfortable around that she would speak freely. Even then, she kept her guard up.

Who was Anne to question this new person? She did not; she assumed that the new recruit was shy and overwhelmed with the grandness that was Skyhold. Anne tried her best to sound knowledgeable, she imparted what information she could to Ares. And she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride for not being the newest servant in Skyhold any longer. She wanted to show off not only to herself but also to the woman, how skilled she was at the nuances for their job.

It was not until they approached the Ambassador that anything felt amiss to Anne. She sensed the new girl stiffen at Miss Montiliyet’s sight. She noticed how Ares eyed the ambassador with a disturbing hunger. She watched as the woman stealthily inspected the large office Miss Montilyet inhabited.

However, Anne said nothing.

Anne thought she was being silly, as always. Never was she confident in her gut, even though it was usually correct. It wasn’t until the knife was drawn that Anne felt confident in her intuition about Ares.

Anne screamed as she threw herself between the imposter and the ambassador.  She felt the blade connect with her arm and gut. She knew it was deep. When another intruder came through the window of the office, thankfully guards were running in. They had ben aletered upon hearing the screams from Miss Montiliyet and Anne. Anne was very thankful of their arrival. She wasn’t sure she could deflect the blows from both assassins. In fact, she was sure she couldn’t.

The ambassador hid behind her desk as the guards came flooding into the room. Anne sunk to her knees, finding that she lacked the strength to steady herself any longer.  She looked at the hand that had clutched her stomach. It was covered in blood. She saw how more of the red liquid poured from her abdomen and she placed the hand back over the wound.

Her vision flickered. She felt nothing. She looked around, but only saw flashes of movement. Hollowed yelling and commotion echoed in her ears. Time slowed. She felt… so… dizzy. She didn’t even realize when it all went black.

–

Anne isn’t sure how much time has passed, but first she hears and echoed call. A voice she knows; a voice with kindness and so much worry within it. The voice is calling her name. She starts to realize that she is being touched. Not just touched, she is being held. The voice is willing her to wake, to open her eyes, to say something to him.

Anne wonders what has happened.

She flutters her eyes open, the focus is blurry. So she squeezes her eyes shut in attempt to try and calm her focus before opening again.

And there he is.

His golden eyes are fixated on hers. She can make out the shapes of his face; the scar on his lip, the scruff on his chin, and the slicked back yet curly blond hair on his head. Commander Rutherford is talking to her.

Why is the Commander talking to her? And why is he so close? She blinks and silently peers at him, his brow is deeply furrowed, his eyes wide. She realizes that she is in his arms.

Why is she in his arms?

She barely has the time to think to ask what is happening before more faces crowd her. They speak mumbled words while looking at her. She sees the Commander glare at the faces. He yells angrily, “Well it’s not their blood, is it?”

They all look so worried, but Anne isn’t sure why. She tries to speak, but finds no voice. She coughs instead, and looks to the Commander in bewilderment while he urges her not to speak. She coughs and gasps for air. Anne begins to panic while wondering why she can’t speak or breathe. She feels wetness drip down her lips and chin, and the Commander appears even more distressed.

Anne needs to know what is happening, why is the Commander so upset?

She weakly brings her hand to her lips to wipe the wetness, only the find red soaking her fingertips.

Blood.

Anne’s breathing quickens as she starts to understand her surroundings. She cranes her neck to look at her body. All she sees is a flash of wet, red, tattered, cloth before she shrieks and loses control. Her head flops back into the commander’s arms and it all goes dark…  _again_.


	9. Satinalia Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another series I filled back around the holidays of 2016. The first prompt was for Ugly Christmas Sweater, and the second was for Mistletoe :) Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, the second half of this is probably the most popular Cullen/Anne post I've ever written <3

The Great Hall was abuzz with the Satinalia holiday party. Lady Montiliyet spared no expense. Anne has to admit she is a little proud of it, too. She likes to think the decorations she made really help pull the party together.

She was so excited about this party that she even spent what little coin she has on a new sweater. She marched up to Bonny Sims in the market and asked for the best and most festive sweater she had for the holiday. Bonny assured her that there were none like it.

It is amazing. Anne stretches it out to look down at its splendor proudly. Flying halla cascading over a decorated Satinalia tree. It is glorious. It took a fair amount of her coin, but she had to have it. She loves the holidays, and she is especially proud since she was drafted to help with this party.

She walks into the grand doors and glows as she looks at the party before her. Everyone smiling and laughing. Master Tethras waves her over as soon as he sees her, he is sitting at the head of his usual table.

“Hey Sugars, nice sweater!” he says, barely able to keep in rolling laughter as he points at her sweater.

“What? What's wrong with it? I think it’s quite festive!” Anne smooths out her sweater, lifts her chin, and purses her lips, mockingly indignant.

“Oh it’s festive alright.” He snorts and points beyond her.

Anne turns to see Seeker Penatghast approaching wearing… 

The. Same. Sweater. 

The Seeker looks at Anne and sneers, “Uggnff… I see you were forced to wear this monstrosity as well. Does Josephine have no mercy?”

Anne’s cheeks flush. She tugs and knots her fingers into the hem of her sweater. “I… I bought this actually…”

“Oh,” the Seeker raises her eyebrows and stares at the sweater. “Well, it suits you well,” she forces herself to say, making Anne feel even more awkward.

“The two of you make quiet the pair. Belle’s of the ball!” Varric chuckles and starts jotting something in a notebook.

“No! No, Varric, you will not put this in one of your tales!” The Seeker screeches, attempting to grab the notebook off of the table. Varric deftly snatches it away from her grasp and hides it beneath the surface.

“Who me? I would never,” he says and grins up at the seeker.

“Oh, look at you two!” Lady Montiliyet coos from beyond the table. The Ambassador was dressed head to toe in gold and green, with little balls of jewels hanging from many various locations. She looked that a Satinalia tree. 

But the best part…

Two elves… women Anne knows from the kitchens… stand behind the Ambassador. They slouch in defeat with halla horns on their heads, red painted on their noses, and dull straight expressions plastered on their faces.

Lady Montiliyet actually got them to dress up like Satinalia halla. Anne stifles a laugh, the two women shoot a glare at her. She can’t help it, this is too perfect.

Anne eyes her favorite dwarf who mirrors her expression. Both pressing their lips together desperately trying not to explode into laughter. But it is too much, and they both crack up into hysterics.

Groaning, the Seeker rolls her eyes and storms away.

Lady Montiliyet stands there bewildered. “What? What is it?”

“Oh nothing, Ruffles. You and your halla look great. You all are the picture of Satinalia cheer.” Varric manages to rasp out between laughs.

Anne slumps into the seat next to him, unable to hold her own weight anymore from laughing so hard. Lady Montiliyet smiles and turns to mingle more in the party. The two elves stay to glare at Anne and Varric a moment longer before turning to follow. Anne grins at them and wiggles her fingers in a sarcastic farewell.

This is the best party ever.

 

*****

 

After spending time drinking some  _spiced_  eggnog with Varric, Anne giggles and proclaims to the dwarf that she is going to ‘mingle.’ She leaves him and wanders a little haphazardly through the crowded merriment.

Eventually she decides that the eggnog hit her a little harder than she had anticipated, and she leans herself against a doorway that leads to the library. Crossing her arms, she grins drunkenly and watches the people around her.

Her eyes brighten when she notices the commander approach her through the crowd. He isn’t wearing his normal armor, but instead is dressed in a loose fitting tunic and wool slacks. The tie at the top of his tunic has come loose, allowing for a glimpse of soft blonde hair on a muscled chest to peak through. Not nearly as scandalous as how Varric can be seen every day, but just enough to make Anne stare, feeling herself quiver at the sight.

He smiles at her kindly, and leans against the opposite side of the arched doorway. He takes a sip from a mug in his hand and looks out to the party. “Are you enjoying the celebration, Anne?” He turns his shining and beautiful eyes back to her. His cheeks have a soft glow to them, he looks happy and at ease. Anne ventures that he has been partaking in the special eggnog as well.

“I am, Commander. I love Satinalia.” Her voice is more relaxed than it usually is when she speaks to him. There is a slight and deep hum behind her words. She grins at him with a crooked smile, face slightly turned away, eyes twinkling at him through her lashes.

“That is a festive sweater,” he leans closer the flick his fingertip on a puff ball at the top of the tree. Anne watches the action as if it is in slow motion; a pleasant tingle flutters in her smalls. She lightly drags her fingers along the cotton sleeve of his tunic while his arm returns to his side and he leans against the stone once more.

“Thank you, but where is your sweater? You didn’t want to join in the gayety?” Her voice is getting thicker, each word carrying a slow and sensual purr within it.

“Ah, yes, well… Josie did give me something to wear… but…” His arm bends to the shoulder it stems from, hand massaging it absentmindedly. He takes another drink from the mug in his other hand. Smirking bashfully at her, he continues, “I just don’t know how I feel about the recruits seeing me that way.”

“Oh come on, Commander. It’s a holiday. I’m sure they’d love to see that their Commander is… human.” She is rather impressed with herself for continuing to speak so freely with him. Heat continues to coil within her as she gazes at the man. So close to her, she could reach out to him and…

“I suppose you have a point.” He reaches behind his back and retrieves a set of halla horns that had been tucked in his waistband. He gestures for Anne to hold his mug, which she does. Holding it in both hands, she takes a sip of the saucy eggnog inside. Her eyes glued to him, watching him place the horns on his head.

He presents himself as if to say  _ta-da_ butwithout the words. She chuckles at the sight. He is so endearing. She hands his mug back to him and their fingers graze against each other. The feeling gives her a thrill.

“You look very handsome, Commander.” She pulls her lip between her teeth and smirks. He grins back at her, the scar on his lip twisting into a mirrored, dangerously playful expression.

Maybe she could just…

“Look at this pair, Dorian!” The Inquisitor’s voice pulls Anne and the Commander’s attention away from each other. He stands there, arm proudly draped around Dorian’s shoulder.

“Happy Satinalia, your Worship,” Anne bows her head and stands straight.

Cullen also straightens in order to face the Inquisitor, causing his elbow to brush against Anne’s. Either he wants the contact, is too distracted to realize it’s there, or simply doesn’t care, because he leaves his arm to lightly touch and press against hers. All she can focus on is the sensation. Her eyes dart around the floor, thinking of his touch, desperately trying to not pull his body against her. She wants to feel all of it against her.

Dorian and the Inquisitor share a look. “Have you kissed yet?” Dorian asks.

“Maker’s breath, what?” The Commander’s shock causes him to unsteady himself, and Anne feels his strong muscle rub firmly against her. “I don’t – why would you ask such a thing?” he stammers. Anne is rather oblivious to the situation, mind still fixated on the body next to her… touching her…

Oh, how firm and taut his muscles must be…

Dorian points above their heads, the pair look up to find a small bundle of mistletoe hanging from the top of the arched doorway. They both immediately jump and separate, facing one another again, looking at each other in horror.

Cheeks redden, eyes and heads frantically look away. The Commander rubs the back of his neck. Anne runs her hand through her hair, then bites nervously on the nail of her index finger.

“I think that answers your question,” the Inquisitor says to Dorian, the two of them snickering amusedly. “Well you have to kiss,” he says to them then turns back to Dorian, “They have to kiss.”

“Most assuredly, it is tradition. It would be bad luck for them not to,” Dorian responds.

“You don’t want to bring bad luck to the Inquisition because of one little kiss, do you Cullen?” The Inquisitor grins.

“Maker, preserve me,” the Commander sighs under his breath. He looks at Anne to find her staring at him wide-eyed, chewing on her nail.

“Well go on then,” the Inquisitor insists.

The Commander takes a deep breath and hands Dorian his mug of eggnog. He leans in to Anne, lightly wiping hair that fell in her face when she ran her hands through it.

She is frozen. Only movement is from her blinking eyes, as if she doesn’t believe what is happening. As if the next time she opens her eyes, he will be gone, like he was never there.

He gently takes her hand away from her mouth, replacing it with his thumb and finger under her chin to raise her face to his. He looks down at her lips, they soften and part for him.

He closes his eyes - she does the same.

Brushing his lips against hers, she can’t help but sigh into him. After a brief and single kiss, lips lightly caressing each other for the most blissful moment of Anne’s entire life, he pulls away. Her body loses balance and she drops forward. She wants to continue, to kiss him there for the rest of her life. But he has straightened again, his lips miles away.

She brings her fingers back to her mouth, touching the skin that radiates from his touch and she stares at him, and se stares at her. His chest steadily rising and falling, he swallows hard. They stand there under the doorway, still, bodies tingling, and the entirety of Thedas falls away from them.

Dorian and the Inquisitor coo and celebrate next to them, but they are ignored.

Anne is lost in his eyes.

He is lost in hers.

Dorian shoves the mug back into the Commander’s hand, breaking the spell they were under. The Inquisitor says something, laughing, and then walks away with Dorian – back into the party, as if this was all just a game. Just amusement.

The Commander rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and looks away, “I’m sorry.”

“Wha- I- umm- no… don’t be,” Anne’s voice is hushed and breathless. “We wouldn’t want to bring bad luck to the Inquisition.”


	10. Tipsy and Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @galadrieljones prompted: I just want tipsy Cullen. Just some nice, handsome tipsy Cullen. Either of your pairings. As long as he's tipsy. :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is tipsy, but I had a little something on else the brain, as well as my own sleepiness taking over, as I wrote this.

After succumbing to the vices of her favorite and only friend, Anne’s eyelids droop a little low, her lips press and curl a little cheeky. The smoke made her mouth feel dry and barren, so she wandered to the tavern in search of wine.

She could hear him talking about trebuchets from a mile away.

His laughter is very unique and seldom heard. She giggles when she hears it. Unable and unwilling to suppress her percolating giggles, she strides through the room in her new quest. One for sounds. The sounds that bring her joy.

She squeaks in a hic-cup of delight when she finds their source.

“I knew it was you, Commander, only you would be twittering in a tavern about trebuchets,” she coos at him through her curling lips. She can see him, though barely, through the lashes of her drooping lids.

He grins back at her. His face is flushed, not from embarrassment, but from his thinned and warm blood that pulses vibrantly. “Anne! Join us!” he welcomes her with an exuberant raising of his hand. He need not ask twice. She plops down in a vacant chair next to him as if her hips were weighted down. 

“Blackwall, did you know Anne and I are both from Honnleath?” he asks the man sitting across from them, who Anne has only just now noticed.

“Is that so? Did you know each other before you left for the Templars?” The warden’s voice is warm and rough. The sound makes Anne feel safe, like she is being swaddled in her father’s arms.

“No, I think she would was too young. Although, I have wondered if I met her unknowingly…” his voice trails off and Anne grins at the sound. Lovely, that. Thoughtful and pure. It makes her feel like she is walking on clouds.

“You think of me?” Her head tilts dangerously close to contact with his shoulder.

“I, well, I, yes… I suppose I do.”

Her eyes close as her head makes contact. She sighs into it, looping her arm around and beneath his. “I think of you, too.” She feels his cheek press on the top of her head.

“How are you feeling, Anne? Do you need help to your quarters?” His voice is deeper and softer now. It could lull her to sleep.

“Mmm,” her response is noncommittal, just contentment. She answers fully after a long mellow pause, “I’m good right here, for now.”

She silently listens as he and the warden resume their discussion. The jostling of his body when he laughs makes her feel present. The rich sounds of their voices make her feel tranced. He holds the hand that snaked its way around his arm, making her feel grounded.

She nuzzles in when he wraps his arms around her.

She feels weightless when he carries her through the keep.

She feels ecstasy when he kisses her forehead before he leaves.

She wishes sincerely that they could be that reckless without the aid of vice.


	11. It had to be the punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Dancing under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt, and thought of Anne and Cullen…they are kind of like my my cinderella story… so here you all go with some fluff of the Commander and my little servant girl. Happy New Year ;)

## It Had To Be The Punch

Anne is exhausted and tired and irritated and damn it all, her feet hurt. She has been rushing around since dawn to help prepare, to help cook, to help staff, and to help with everything under the sun having to do with the Lady Ambassador’s latest ball. Now, with the stars firmly planted in the sky, she stands on the battlements and breathes a sigh of relief that she was finally cut loose. She reckons she worked for at least eighteen hours non-stop, only able to grab quick bites while on the run to this that or the other.

Exhausting.

She leans on the crenelation, the midnight air feels cool on her skin. It is welcomed and she rolls her neck, leaving it drooped doward. She pulls a headscarf from her hair and allows the long tresses to fall over her shoulders and over the side of the castle. The breeze on the back of her neck gives her a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She wonders if perhaps she shouldn’t have taken some of the punch before she left. She saw the amount of alcohol Cabbot had mixed in earlier, and it would surely have brought more relief to her aches and pains.

She listens to the quartet still playing in the hall, tiny echoes of strings and a pianoforte. Her eyes drift over her leaning arms, finding a few rips in her frock that she will have to mend before bed. She sighs a heavy sigh and spins so that her elbows prop her the opposite direction. She bows her back and stares up at the sky. The amount of stars are overwhelming, and the beauty helps distract her from the terrible pain in her spine between her shoulder blades.

Her mind filters back to what little of the ball she was actually able to enjoy. The beautiful gowns. The dashing suits. The flirtatious glances and giggles while couples danced and batted their lashes and their smiles at each other. She closes her eyes and wonders what it would be like to live as the nobles live. How would it feel to attend balls rather than scurry around behind the scenes? How does it feel to wear luxurious fabrics speckled with pearls and jewels and lace? How heavy are those masks and wigs and hats they wear, and how do they keep them on?

She ventures to think that perhaps it is also exhausting to attend a ball, not just work it.

She smiles at herself, laughing softly under her breath. She looks down at her tattered brown skirt, her stained and worn in apron. She smoothes a hand over the thin cotton. It may not be fancy, but it’s easy to move in, and she supposes that will have to do.

The door to the battlement tower swings open and a loud groan full of tension release as well as frustration bellows down the battlements. Anne Jumps with a start and stares wide-eyed in the groan’s direction, a tiny little _eep_ slipping past her lips.

The Commander jumps, his gloved hand quickly finding the back of his neck. “Oh, Anne, I’m sorry,” he says. “I did not know anyone was here. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her ears burn along with her cheeks. Her words are lost, for all she can do is notice how dashing he looks in his dress clothes.

“You sought relief from the pomp and circumstance as well, I gather?” He smiles at her and walks to the notch in the crenalaton beside her, leaning down and looking out over the moonlit Frostback mountains. “Mind if I join you?”

“It is an honor, Commander,” Anne responds, spinning her body back around to face the mountains again.

They stand there in silence for a series of minutes before Anne asks, “Did you find any enjoyment in the ball?”

He groans and shakes his head. “Every function such as this is full of propositions and absurdity.” He rolls his shoulders. “At least this time I remembered to have my jacket let-out.”

“Did you dance with anyone?”

“Josephine forced me into a couple dances, but I did my best to anchor the wall,” he chuckles and turns his head to her. Anne’s breath catches at the sight of his handsome smile and sparkling moonlit eyes.

“I was just wondering to myself how they move around in those gowns and headdresses.” She returns his smile. “I think I was a little jealous at first, but then I decided I prefer the ease of this frock. I think I saw at least two women faint under the pressure of those contraptions they wear.”

He chuckles at that, the sound makes Anne feel weightless.

“I am certain you would be able to dance much easier in that than what anyone is wearing in there,” he says.

Anne snorts and then giggles because she snorted. “That would be a sight, Commander. This rag of a thing dancing in that ballroom.”

His rich laugh is a cure-all for the pain in her exhausted body, in fact, her exhaustion is completely forgotten. The Commander stands tall and glaces back toward the Great Hall, soft music still flowing from within it. He then pulls off his gloves and unfastens the toggles and buttons of his formal jacket.

Anne’s heart races as she watches him fold his jacket delicately and drape it over the wall, placing his gloves on top. He stretches his shoulders and sighs. “That’s better,” he says, now in his tunic and dress trousers. He bends at the waist and toward her, offering his hand. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Anne’s not sure what to think.She brushes her fingers over his lips in shock, but places her other hand in his.

This is the last thing she expected to happen this evening.

“I’m not sure what to do,” she says. “I’ve…I’ve never ballroom danced before.”

“How about battlement danced?” He laughs and it helps her feel a little more at ease. Although, she is still mystified at the situation. “Just follow my lead.”

And she does. He holds her hand in his right, and lightly presses his left to her waist. His hands a rough but gentle. Her heart races so thunderously that it may as well spring from her chest. But they dance, and as terrifying as it is, it is glorious.

She thinks he must have enjoyed Cabbot’s punch bowl that evening.

Certainly. That is the only reasonable explanation. Holding the wall was most certainly a dehydrating chore.

“You’re correct, Anne,” he says and she wonders if he just read her thoughts. “It is much easier to dance this way.” She looks up at him through her lashes but her embarrassment takes over and she immediately glances away.

She watches the stars and the mountains and the glowing castle windows as they dance and turn along the stone. When the music dies down, he releases her and bows, still holding her hand in his.

“Thank you for the dance, Anne,” he says just before placing a soft kiss on her knuckles and releasing her altogether.

She stands there, still and confused, her knuckles tingling and her face skewed. Not sure what just happened or why.

It had to be the punch.


	12. Resistance is Futile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little diddy of Anne pining away while drunk. Takes place in Skyhold Abbey after the chapter when she discovers him shirtless in his bed.

 

 

##  **Resistance is Futile**

Anne stares into the bottom of her mug. She’s had a few dirty nugs this evening in the tavern. Probably a few too many.

Definitely too many.

It is the commander. He has the gall to strut around the castle looking so…so…so much like himself. It’s become impossible for Anne to reign in her crush. It’s sickening, really. She has no business… but she cannot stop.

She looks around the busy room. People mingling and laughing and having a great time with their friends, with their lovers, with everyone.

Perhaps this crush wouldn’t be so hard if she wasn’t so damn lonely all of the time.

She catches sight of Bel’nas. He is treating a young lady to a few drinks equipped with copious amounts of flirting. She sees him with a new young lady so often that she can’t help but be relieved she evaded his charms months before. He makes a decent friend, but her instincts were right that a match was not.

However, her instincts are failing when it comes to this ridiculous crush on the commander.

“Evening, Sugars,” she hears a raspy voice say. Her bleary eyes swing over to find the dwarf Tethras staring back at her.

“Master Tethras,” she says with a slur. She tips her nose down and looks up through her drunk eyelashes. “I’m tired of pretending.”

The man smiles and slides into a seat across from her. “And to what are we pretending?”

“That everything is fine.”

“What isn’t fine, Sugars?”

“How can he,” she begins too loud, and bangs her mug on the table, her other hand flinging a finger through the air wildly. “How can he walk around here looking like _that_ , and talking like _that_ , and think it’s okay?!”

“He’s obviously wrong.”

“He is!” She slurps what little remains of her whiskey into her mouth. “It’s rude. How can he expect me to not think things when…when he looks like _that_ shirtless?”

“I don’t know. Seems a bit unfair to me,” he responds with a smirk.

“Have you seen his muscles? They should be outlawed.”

“Agreed.”

“I have no business seeing that. He knows. Everyone knows I have no right to feel like that, but he just keeps on keeping on.” Anne slams her arms down on the table with a thump of her head following upon them. “I’m still a woman. I’m not blind. It’s not fair.”

The dwarf reaches across the table and pats her lightly on the arm. “There, there, Sugars. It’s not as bad as you think. In fact, you may find that the opposite of what you think is true. Though it’s best not to tell you when your drunk.”

“You don’t make any sense,” she whines into her dress sleeve.

“Sure I don’t, kid. Sure I don’t.”


End file.
